


Chains bind us no more

by Hatchered



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: M/M, Multi, Viking AU, Vikings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-16 11:05:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7265491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatchered/pseuds/Hatchered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>None knew who this merciful lord was, or why he was saving thralls from their life in chains. All anyone knew was that he was a force to be reckoned with, with his growing army behind him...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fyrstr

**Author's Note:**

> Right, so this has taken me a very long time to write and this AU has been in the works for a long time as well. I have a ton of ideas for it though, and I hope that it will generate a full fic with time. This first chapter is mainly a bit introductory, and concerns Skip and Malarkey and their time as thralls in the southwest of what today is Sweden. More characters will show up in the next few chapters, and some more backstories will hopefully also be touched upon, because I have some for most of the characters!
> 
> Any translations of Old Norse can be found in the end note!

**858 AD**  
The first thing he felt was the cold. The terrible, bitter, cold that was gnawing on his limbs, and that nearly convinced him that he would find his skin dusted with frost as soon as he opened his eyes. There was even a fear there, that his eyes wouldn't open when he tried, but it was only fleeting, swooping through his head too quickly for him to be able to catch it. Instead, his eyes were opened out of habit, and he was suddenly blinking in a fading light. 

His back was pressed against a wooden wall, the rough boards suddenly obvious as he moved to an upright position, and he could feel the icy wind wafting through unseen cracks and crevices in the dark timber. The cold in the room was a fact, and the sight of an unlit fire made him realise that whoever had placed him in there, had no intention of wasting precious heat on his small body. 

The realisation that he was a captive came as he tried to move to a standing position, and found his hands and feet in heavy shackles, the metal so cold against his already icy skin that he hadn't noticed their presence until he had tried to move. Had it not been obvious with his unknown location that he had been captured, the shackles now made it all too clear. 

The sound of someone clearing their throat pulled him from his thought, bright eyes quickly rising from the metal that kept him in place to find another boy staring at him from across the room. He had been sat so still that he had melted into the backdrop, dark clothes almost enough to make him vanish, had it not been for his flaming red hair. 

“Ek... heiti... Malarkey.” The words sounded unfamiliar and clumsy as they tumbled from the redhead's lips, his brow knitted in concentration as he forced them out. It was clear he was unsure of how to speak them, and it was enough to make Skip realise that he was probably not alone in being captured. “Hvat... heitir... þú?” 

The obvious question was met with silence and a shake of a blond head, Skip making it clear for the other that he hadn't understood a word of what had been said. There had only been what seemed to be a name that had stood out, and after a moment of hesitation, he decided to try and repeat it. 

“Malarkey?” Struggling against the heavy shackles, he managed to make a gesture in the other boy's direction, and he was met with a nod and a smile, which encouraged him to try something else, and repeat something else he knew he had heard shouted, in the midst of a burning chaos. “Normanni?” The world was unfamiliar on this tongue, coming from a language he had never spoken before, but it had been clear from the moment he had heard it called that it was one referring to the men who had come to his village and set it ablaze. 

A look that almost resembled horror swept across the redhead's face as he heard the word, and he furiously shook his head, making it all too clear that he had no affiliation with the people Skip had mentioned. The Northmen. The Vikings. Their kidnappers. 

Silence filled the room, and the two sat studying each other through the gloom, their breaths emerging as clouds in the small air, both pairs of lips wanting to speak, but both unable to find the right words. 

It was Malarkey who ended up breaking the silence, asking the same question which he had already asked once before. The only difference was that this time, there was an answer. 

“Hvat heitir þú?” A gesture was made in the blond's direction, the motion riddled by the sound of metal against metal.

“Skip.” The name was followed by a smile, which was soon imitated by the redhead across the room, at the same time as the name was repeated. 

_“Skip.”_

–

 **860 AD**  
There was a howling in the air, floating towards him where he lay on his stomach in the dirt underneath a bush. He could still remember the days as a child where he had hated this game of hiding and seeking, where he had used to prefer running away from his playmates rather than take any part in the game of theirs. Now, however, things were different. Now, he was laying in the dirt, barely even daring to breathe as he stifled giggles and the urge to howl back. Had any of his old playmates seen him at that moment, they would probably not even have recognised him. 

The howling was slowly coming closer, together with the crackling of leaves under bare feet, a sound Malarkey was all too accustomed to after the long hours they had spent working in the very same forest they were now playing in. 

“I am the great _Fenrisúlfr_ , the one the gods could barely chain. I am here to eat you, so fear me!” Heavily accented Norse was ringing out now, followed by more howling as the person in pursuit approached his hiding place, and Malarkey had a hard time keeping the laughter at bay. 

However, the laughter got stuck in his throat as something suddenly grabbed hold of his ankle and yanked him out from his hiding place. The force was unexpected, and it was accompanied by fear as Malarkey for a moment expected the angry, bearded face of his master to be waiting for him as he rolled onto his back. 

Instead, he found a victorious Skip. 

“The great _Fenrisúlfr_ has acquired his pray, and now he will feast.” Baring his teeth, the blond shot Malarkey a toothed grin, which was soon followed by laughter. 

“That was not fair.” Had it been anyone else than Skip, Malarkey knew he would have been angry, but now there was instead only a worried smile on his face. “I thought it was the _vikingr_ , here to give me a beating for running off.” He was well aware they were both going to suffer a beating as soon as they returned to their master's house, but he was soon to push it out of his mind. 

“Then you should be glad it was only _Fenris_.” Seating himself on the ground next to Malarkey, Skip shot his friend another smile. “At least he will not beat you. He will only swallow you whole, unless you grow big enough to force him to chew.” 

“I am very glad it was only _Fenris_. Because at least he is not a savage _norroenir seggr_ who keeps _thralls_.” 

“That is very true. _Fenris_ only eats anything that moves.” Skip's words were followed by laughter as the two lay on their backs, eyes turning towards the sky where the sun would soon start to set. They knew any sensible child would have returned home already, but neither of them were sensible, and neither did particularly count their master's house as _home_. Perhaps because it wasn't theirs, and would never be...

–

 **875 AD**  
The sun was unusually hot, casting its burning rays onto the earth with such force that it felt as if it was all drying up before his very eyes. The earth they had been turning on the fields lay in dry heaps, awaiting the seed they were to sow, and to him, it felt almost as if _Sol_ was mocking them for the work they were doing. 

Running the back of his hand over his brow, Skip allowed his eyes to travel the field, taking in the other _thralls_ working around him, sweat running down their faces from the physical labour. No one there was unused to the hard work, but with the unexpected heat, most had been left still in their thick woollen garments with no chance of a change until the day was over. 

Some of the men had stripped down to their waist, their tunics hanging over the rickety fence separating the field from the pigpen, but despite that, sweat was still running down their chests and backs after the hours they had spent at work.

While the work in the field had only been going on since late morning, most of the _thralls_ had still been up since before sunrise, a few of the women preparing the breakfast for the master's family, while the younger men had gathered wood for the fire located at the heart of the big house. It was rare for it to ever be unlit, and on the coldest of nights, someone would sit by it to make sure it did not go out. It was a task no one wished to be given, as it not only meant a sleepless night followed by a hard day's work, but also that there would only be the wind to listen to for all those long hours. The wind, which during the winter nights would make it sound as if _Fenrisúlfr_ was approaching and scare even the strongest of Vikings into hiding.

However, for the _thralls_ , the howling of the wind did not scare them as much as it had during the first few winters. They had become used to it, and knew that while the darkness was thick and unyielding until dawn, there would be no wolf waiting outside the door, was the poor thrall on guard forced to make a run for more wood in the night. 

“Don't slack off now, Skip. There is still at least another hour until sundown.” A nudge from a dirty shovel made Skip turn, his eyes falling on the owner of the shovel for a moment, before they turned to where dirt was now clinging to the fabric of his tunic. 

“I was just taking a moment to breathe. You don't have to cover me in dirt for that.” 

“You're already dirty as sin, Skip. Don't blame me.” 

Malarkey's comment generated a low chuckle from the blond as he brushed the dirt off, well aware that neither of them was the cleanest. They rarely washed, neither themselves nor their clothing, and he had long since grown used to the grime and dirt which seemed as much a part of him as his own skin. 

“You're not much better yourself.” A smile flickered across Skip's lips, before he gripped his own shovel a little tighter and allowed it to sink back into the ground. He was well aware that if they were found dawdling, there would be a whip awaiting them within seconds. Their master had never been a kind man, and both Skip and the red head by his side carried the scars to show it...


	2. Annarr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are made, but not everyone are as convinced they will succeed...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was finished a lot quicker than I thought it would be, so I'm honestly super excited about that! Really wanted to get another one out before I go on holiday without my computer, and at this rate I might even be able to get chapter three out before then! Maybe even chapter four, if my inspiration keeps on being this good. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy, and thank you so much for the great reception that the first chapter got!! I really wasn't expecting that!

The longhouse was filled with a chorus of voices, which all mingled with the sounds of the crackling fire in the hearth and the dozens of tasks being performed. While most were seemingly relaxed, leaning against wooden pillars or sat on the furs spread on the earthy floor, there was still a purpose to everything in the large room. Anyone who knew what the gathered people were a part of, knew that there was no one that was idle. Everyone had their special task, their special place, and perhaps that was why the group worked so well. 

Even the leader, who could have just been in a supervising role as he sipped his mead, was showing his participation where he sat among the men in a high-backed chair. For an untrained eye he might have been hard to spot, had he not been clad in fine furs with bronze rings on his fingers, but for anyone who knew what they were looking for would immediately notice the confidence and authority he radiated. It was clear that this man, despite that he didn't raise himself above the men around him, was the leader of the party, and he was not to be underestimated. 

“So what you are saying is that these plans might not be realistic, and that we should abandon them – despite having come this far?” A red eyebrow was raised as Winters studied his advisors, light eyes showing all too well that he wasn't about to abandon anything. He had taken too many risks, made too many enemies and too many promises to turn back. 

“I am not saying we should abandon the full plan, but for now it feels quite impossible to sail the distance you wish us to sail. While the ships are in good condition, there is still the problem with that we only have a handful of men that can actually sail them. Is that not correct, Nixon?” An almost pleading look was sent by the first advisor to the second, but not much more than a nod was given from the other, the man being too busy refilling his tankard with mead from a tall pitcher. 

“If that is the only issue, then that can be easily rectified. We will just split the men into groups and train them – the same way we are currently training them in other things. It can't be hard.” Allowing a calming smile to rise on his lips, Winters reached out to place a hand on the first advisor's – Welsh's – shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “It will be fine, Harry.” 

“While it is a good idea, my lord, there is still the issue with that there is only a handful who knows how to sail. You currently have over 120 men in your service, and another 20 are coming in soon – where almost all are _thralls_ in the need of weapons training – and the few we have will need weeks to train everyone. It's just not possible.” 

“Then how about we hire some fishermen to train them? While they might not know how to sail a longship, they can still teach the men the basics. We do have the funds for that, do we not?” The leader's stubbornness was all too well shining through, and there was a deep sigh from Welsh as he tried his best to respond in a calm manner.

“We do, but that would mean dipping into the funds that has been set aside for supplies for the trip, and those are already starting to get tight. Especially if you are planning on reaching 200 men before we leave. That would mean that the supplies could run out before we even reach _Ísland_ and _Reykjarvík_ , and that is a thing I believe we would all wish to avoid.”

It was at this, the third in the company finally spoke, a hand rubbing over the thick beard covering his cheeks and chin, while the other clutched his tankard to his chest. 

“I doubt the men would mind the lack of food if it's only for a while. As long as they have mead for their drinking horns and the rest they need to sober up, then it will be fine.” Stifling a yawn, the dark-haired man shot the other two a look. “At least that's true for me.”

His words had generated a reaction from men seated close by, and it was suddenly all too clear that they had been listening in on the conversation from the beginning as they decided to add their opinion to that of Nixon's. 

“He's right, my lord. Mead and sleep, and we will be good as new. Ain't that right, boys?” Nudging the man next to him in the side, the speaker allowed a smile to rise on his lips. “We'll be fine, as long as none of us fall overboard and get eaten by _Jǫrmungandr_. Not that I think he'd like the taste of any of us with how filthy we all will be when we reach the high seas.” Laughter erupted at this as the men knocked their tankards together and took a swig each, allowing the leader and his advisors to return back to their own conversation as they quickly lost focus. While the great _Miðgarðsormr_ was a creature every seafaring Viking feared, here in the security of the longhouse, it was something that could be joked about, and to the sound of roars, the leader set an end to the previous argument. 

“There we have it, then. The plans will be fine the way they are, the men clearly believe so themselves, so we should not disappoint them by postponing the plans. After all, we only have another two months left before our window shuts for this year. If we don't leave within that time, we will have to wait until next year, and I doubt any of us would wish for that with the rising tensions.”

_Not even Welsh could argue with that..._

–

The road was muddy from the night's rain, and the men were slipping and sliding as they tried to make their way towards the waiting camp. Most had been walking for days, following a small group on horseback and the promise of freedom they had been given by these strangers. Some hadn't believed a word of that, all too used to lies and false promises after a life in _serfdom_ , but others had taken all as truth and the excitement was all too clearly seen in their eyes as they trudged along. 

Malarkey was one of the doubters, his brown eyes carefully surveying the people leading them on their way, just waiting for them to take out whips if anyone fell too far behind. That was what always had happened whenever anyone hadn't been doing their job well enough, and he didn't expect these people to be any different. No matter how kind they had been, especially the man and woman who had brought Malarkey and Skip along. The two had continuously been trying to lighten the mood, making jokes and singing songs as they group had travelled along, and while it had worked on most, Malarkey was not convinced. 

“I don't like this.” A words were murmured under his breath as he studied the man and woman, the two having taken to sharing a horse after an older _thrall_ had collapsed the day before, and shown he was not fit for walking. The two were looking two happy, laughter spilling from their lips as the blonde woman retold some story from the past for the group., and to Malarkey that was all cause for suspicion. Previously, happy people in fine clothes had been synonymous with chains and hard work, and he wasn't expecting for that to change. 

“I wasn't expecting you to either, Malarkey, but I'm surprised to hear you say it.” Skip's words caused Malarkey's focus to shift, eyes falling from the people on horseback to his friend as he tried to find a response that wouldn't show the offence he had taken. 

“This is all too suspicious though, you have to agree with that. This is all too good to be true. No one buys _thralls_ the way these people do, nor treat them this way.” 

“There is some sense in that, but don't you think that might show that this is also different? If they are not like other people, then perhaps being bought by them is a good thing.” Skip's never-ending optimism was all too clear at that moment as he spoke, a smile on his face as he skipped through the mud the same way he had been skipping everywhere as a child. There was a happiness in him that Malarkey hadn't seen properly in years, and it was almost painful to think that that happiness might be snuffed out the minute they reached their new home. For that was the last thing Malarkey wished to witness. 

–

The first thing that struck them was the sheer size of the camp they entered, and some of the _thralls_ stared in shock as they followed the riders along the main road. Their goal was obvious – a longhouse in the middle of the camp, where a crowd was already waiting for them to arrive. One of the riders had gone ahead earlier the same day, and he was now stood next to a tall red-head on a podium, a smile on his lips as he waved towards the new arrivals. He had been the obvious leader of the group during the journey, but next to the red-head, he looked more like the second or third in command, with how the red-head radiated authority. 

“Welcome!” The greeting was called in the direction of the arriving thralls as they came to a halt in front of the podium, most of them looking like rabbits caught in a trap as the rest of the men of the camp gathered around them. Their way out had vanished, and some of those who had been happily looking forward to their arrival was now wondering if their freedom had only been a crazy dream. 

However, the red-head on the podium knew otherwise. 

“This camp that you are now in is a camp for free men, and you have all been freed to be given a safe haven with us here. From this day onwards, none shall look upon you and call you a _thrall_. Never again shall you wake up with a _thrall_ collar around your neck, or have the threat of a whip following you.” Rings glittered in the pale sunlight as the _jarl_ spread his arms, a warm smile on his lips as he allowed his eyes to travel over the new men. “It is up to you if you wish to stay with us here, but if you were to leave my lands, I could not guarantee that you will stay free. If you stay here, you will be taught how to fight and sail, and given the opportunity to travel with us to new lands where none will know your past. There, you will be truly free and able to claim grounds for yourself where you can do as you wish.” His words were followed by cheers from his men, as the _thralls_ in the middle started to somewhat relax. “The only rule I have is that you are not allowed to take _thralls_ for yourself. We freed you from that life, and we now expect you to help us free others, as well as keep others free. You know the suffering of a _thrall_ , and you should not wish to put that suffering onto someone else. If you do, I can't promise that you will live long enough to see another sunrise.” Further cheers went up, and this time some of the new arrivals also joined in, their voices first unsure and weak, but soon growing in strength as they were given encouragement from others around them. 

“Now, you must all be tired after your travels. Hot baths are waiting for you, as well as clean clothes and food. There are also men here who will help you remove any _thrall_ collars or chains that may still bind you, and beds for you to sleep in when you feel it is time for that. You are free now – be free to do as you wish!” The smile on the leader's lips was wide now as he watched the happiness erupt among the freed thralls and the other men stepped in to show them the way to the facilities they had been promised. He could barely even imagine what they were feeling, well aware that many of them could have been someone else's property since birth, but he knew that whatever it was, it was worth any sum he had spent on freeing them...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I realised I forgot to translate the chapter title of the last one, but the chapter titles are basically just going to be ordinal numbers in Old Norse, because I'm not creative enough to come up with any good ones. So "Fyrstr" literally just means "first", while "Annarr" means "second", so it's not that hard! I'll try to remember to put it in the end note from now on though with the rest of the translations)
> 
> _Ísland_ \- Iceland (which is technically in Icelandic, but sch)  
>  _Reykjarvík_ \- Reykjavik (if you couldn't guess that. That's just the old spelling of it)  
>  _Jǫrmungandr_ \- The name commonly used for the Midgard Serpent. It basically means "huge monster", because that was obviously what the serpent was.  
>  _Miðgarðsormr_ \- Again, the Midgard Serpent, but this is the name that actually means that.  
>  _jarl_ \- a noblemen. Some has also said they were like princes, which is what I imagine Winters to kinda be. The word is the same as the word "earl", however, so it can be somewhat likened to that during medieval times.

**Author's Note:**

>  _thralls_ \- slaves  
>  _"Ek heiti Malarkey."_ \- "My name is Malarkey"  
>  _"Hvat heitir þú?"_ \- "What is your name?"  
>  _Normanni_ \- basically means "Northmen" and was used on the European continent to refer to the men of the north/the Vikings. Not entirely sure what language it's from, but it was kinda commonly used.  
>  _Fenrisúlfr_ \- The Fenris Wolf  
>  _Vikingr_ \- Vikings  
>  _Norroenir seggr_ \- North man (if I put that together correctly)  
>  _Sol_ \- Goddess of the Sun


End file.
